For the child’s body to be so well preserved, it would have been deposited when the bog water was at its coldest, in winter or spring. According to McNab, Mary McIntyre had been abducted on 1 May 1975.

Up on a Scottish moor in May, the temperature of the bog water would have still been sufficiently cold to prevent the process of decay, and checking the weather of 1975, Rhona had found that snow had fallen as far south as Portsmouth during the first week of June.

Returning to the measurements she’d taken of the body, she now considered the dress they’d extracted from the plastic bag. The post-mortem would result in more precise estimates for the measurements of the victim, but in Rhona’s judgement, the dress buried with the girl looked on the small size to have been worn by her.

When she’d carefully compared the size of the shoes and the remains of the feet, she wasn’t convinced that they would fit either.

Maybe the clothes weren’t those of the victim at all.

Sean’s voice broke into Rhona’s thoughts.

‘Hey. Can I smell fresh coffee?’ Sean padded across in his boxers and poured himself a mug. ‘You hungry? I can make us some breakfast?’ he suggested.

‘There’s food in the fridge?’ Rhona said, surprised. Not a cook herself, she relied mostly on takeaways unless Sean cooked for them.

Sean displayed the contents. ‘I can offer you sliced sausage, eggs and tattie scones.’

‘You’re joking? I haven’t been to the shops recently,’ Rhona said, amazed.

‘I took the liberty of stocking up for you when you were up on the moors with Chrissy,’ he said, almost apologetically.

‘You didn’t happen to buy rolls?’ Rhona said.

Sean opened the bread bin and flourished a pack at her.

‘Chrissy’s taken to feeding me porridge of a morning,’ Rhona explained her excitement.

‘I know. Hence the contents of the fridge. Fancy doing something together later?’ Sean suggested as he brought things out.

Rhona knew what she intended doing, and she had no intention of including Sean in her plans. Judging by his expression, he was picking up on that.

‘You have to work?’ he said.

‘In a way,’ Rhona admitted. ‘I’m going to take another look at the locus.’

‘I thought Chrissy said you’d finished up on the moors?’

‘I’m not sure we are yet,’ Rhona said.

Noting her expression, Sean nodded. ‘Fine. It was just a thought. Well, if you’re heading out, I’d better get frying.’

‘You don’t have to leave when I do,’ Rhona offered.

‘I know,’ Sean said with an easy smile. ‘And I’ll make sure Tom’s inside before I go.’

The cat normally had access to the flat roof of the tenement block via an open kitchen window. Despite Sean’s entreaties about Rhona shutting the window at night, she’d usually failed to do so, preferring to give Tom free range as to when he went out. Something that, since the sin-eater case, no longer happened.

‘If you would.’ Rhona smiled her thanks.